Looking Back on Me

In the moments cast, in the moments due, I put a bandage on the wound because when there is no time to limp or groan to the remnants of hurt, there is space to move, and to keep moving so.

I remember the time, the roads diverged in two, and branching ever so I recall the pot holes, the hail, the snow, and the flat tire hissing in the air; my hands grew numb as I put on the spare.

The world is a fabulous being whenever I try to get to you obstacles and certain signs, duct tape and glue, couldn’t fix another tire. I pack my bag and move on, on my feet, through sleet.

Sometimes I feel hopeless, feel lost, sometimes I gather certain strength to hold back tears from struggles I’ve fought, then I hear that whisper, then I see that note, traveling through the wind and posted on a pole.

The more I travel to you, the more I create you, in my heart, in my stolen shed. These creations are my own, gathering with every step, with every humbling rejection in the presence of you looking back on me.

I slipped and fell on my trembling knees, again, and the cold wind bites the cut and the blood freezes. I put on the bandage, and I talk to myself, hoping to speak to you, then I look back to see how far I have come past the pole.

In the moments cast, in the moments due, I gather a strength to find you in the essence of my own light. I argue with time and gather my own space and walk with it for ever how long.